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Lady Bridgerton’s annual Valentine’s ball was the most anticipated event of the season, and Penelope Featherington wished she could have been anywhere else.
For years, she had endured such events, standing on the fringes while others danced and whispered behind gloved hands. But this year, the whispers were louder. Colin Bridgerton had returned from his travels, and despite Penelope’s best efforts, society had taken notice of the way she had once looked at him. The speculation was unbearable.
“Poor Miss Featherington,” she had overheard Lady Cowper murmur just last week. “Still clinging to a hopeless attachment.”
Penelope had turned away before she could hear more, her cheeks burning.
It was precisely why she found herself standing alone now, pressing her gloved fingers together as she resolved to leave the ballroom as soon as was polite. But then, before she could make her escape, she felt someone approach.
“Miss Featherington.”
Anthony Bridgerton’s deep, authoritative voice was unmistakable. She turned to find him watching her, his dark eyes sharp and assessing.
“My lord,” she said, curtsying.
“I need your assistance,” he said without preamble.
Penelope blinked. “My assistance?”
Anthony exhaled sharply. “My mother has decided that this is the year I must find a wife.”
Penelope arched a brow. “A most shocking revelation.”
His lips quirked, but he continued. “She is parading every eligible lady before me like a prize filly at auction. It is tiresome.”
“I can see how a ballroom full of accomplished young women vying for your attention might be a great hardship,” Penelope said dryly.
Anthony’s gaze darkened with something almost like amusement. “It is when none of them interest me in the slightest.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, wary.
He hesitated. “Because I need a reason to avoid their attention. And you need a reason to quiet the speculation surrounding you and my brother.”
Her breath caught. “You cannot be suggesting—”
“A temporary arrangement,” he confirmed. “A courtship. Just long enough to dissuade the matchmakers and redirect the gossip.”
Penelope stared at him. “That is ridiculous.”
“And yet, it would serve us both,” he countered. “A few weeks at most. We attend events together, dance at a few balls, and then amicably part ways.”
It was ludicrous. It was reckless.
It was also, unfortunately, tempting.
Penelope’s reputation had never been particularly remarkable, but she had no desire to become the subject of pity. And Anthony was not wrong—if she were seen to be courted by him, the talk of her supposed pining for Colin would vanish.
Still, she hesitated. “You assume people will believe it.”
Anthony’s lips curved into the beginnings of a smirk. “Do you doubt my ability to be a convincing suitor?”
The idea was laughable. Anthony Bridgerton was the very model of a perfect gentleman when he wished to be. He could charm anyone with a look and a well-placed compliment.
And that, perhaps, was what made this so dangerous.
Penelope took a breath. “Very well. But when this inevitably goes awry, I shall have the pleasure of saying I told you so.”
Anthony chuckled. “Agreed.”
And just like that, Penelope Featherington found herself in a fake courtship with the Viscount.
———————————————————————
The very next morning, Penelope realized she had made a grave mistake.
Her mother nearly fainted when the butler announced Lord Bridgerton’s arrival at Featherington House.
“Lord Bridgerton?” Portia Featherington gasped, clutching the back of the settee as if she might swoon. “For which of my daughters?”
“Penelope, of course,” Anthony said smoothly as he entered the drawing room.
Penelope, seated beside her sisters, nearly choked on her tea.
Her mother’s eyes widened. “Penelope?”
“Yes,” Anthony said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He turned to Penelope with a slow, knowing smile. “I thought I might take you for a walk in Hyde Park, if you are amenable.”
Penelope wanted to melt into the floor. Of course, he would do this publicly. That was the entire point, after all.
“I—” she started, but Portia was already fluttering her hands in delight.
“Yes! Yes, of course, she is amenable.”
Anthony extended his arm, and Penelope reluctantly took it, allowing him to lead her outside as her mother nearly wept with joy behind them.
As soon as they were far enough from the house, she turned to him, eyes flashing. “You did that on purpose.”
His expression was all innocence. “Did what?”
“You know what.”
He chuckled. “Would you rather I be inattentive? If this is to be convincing, we must be seen together.”
She sighed, unable to argue. “Very well. But you might have warned me.”
“And ruin the moment? Impossible.”
Penelope glared at him, but as they strolled through the park, she began to notice the effect their ruse was already having.
Other ladies—ones who had never paid her much mind—whispered behind their fans as they passed. A few gentlemen even looked at her with newfound interest. But most telling of all was the expression on Colin Bridgerton’s face when they encountered him unexpectedly on the path.
“Anthony. Penelope.” Colin’s gaze flickered between them, his usual easy smile faltering. “You’re… out together?”
Anthony smiled. “Yes. I find Miss Featherington to be excellent company.”
Penelope felt her stomach twist. It was a performance. That was all. And yet, the way Anthony looked at her in that moment—steady, warm, assured—made it feel real.
Colin’s brow furrowed slightly before he recovered. “Well. That is—wonderful.”
Penelope forced a smile. “Yes. Quite.”
They parted ways, and Anthony looked at her, amused. “If I did not know better, I would say Colin looked positively put out.”
“Do not be ridiculous,” she muttered, though she could not deny that Colin had seemed… surprised.
Anthony tilted his head. “Tell me, Penelope. Is it possible that my brother took your affection for granted?”
She stiffened. “That is none of your concern.”
He studied her for a long moment, then simply said, “No. I suppose it isn’t.”
They continued walking, and though Penelope told herself this arrangement was all for show, she could not shake the feeling that something had shifted.
And that, perhaps, was the greatest danger of all.
———————————————————————
By the time a week had passed, the entire ton was ablaze with speculation.
Viscount Bridgerton, the most eligible bachelor in England, had been seen calling upon Penelope Featherington, walking with her in the park, dancing with her at Lady Danbury’s ball.
Penelope had thought the charade would be easy. A few carefully placed appearances, some well-timed smiles, and society would believe it. But Anthony Bridgerton was not merely pretending to court her—he was dedicated to it.
When he danced with her, he held her gaze longer than necessary. When they conversed, he leaned in ever so slightly, as if she were the only person in the room. When another gentleman approached her at a soirée, Anthony would materialize at her side, a proprietary hand at the small of her back.
It was entirely too convincing.
And that was precisely why, one evening at yet another ball, she found herself being cornered by none other than Lady Bridgerton.
“Penelope, my dear,” Violet Bridgerton said, smiling as she pulled Penelope aside into a quiet alcove. “I must admit, I am delighted by this development.”
Penelope swallowed. “Oh?”
The viscountess beamed. “Anthony has been so serious about his duties for so long. I had nearly despaired of him finding a match. But with you—why, I have not seen him so at ease in years!”
Penelope stared at her, stomach twisting. “My lady, I—”
Violet took her hands, squeezing them warmly. “I know my son can be difficult, but I must ask—do you truly care for him?”
Penelope opened her mouth. She should have laughed, waved the idea away. But Violet’s expression was so earnest, so filled with motherly hope, that she could not bring herself to lie.
And perhaps that was the worst part—she was beginning to wonder if it was a lie.
Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.
“Mother,” Anthony said, appearing at her side. He raised a brow. “Are you interrogating my intended?”
Penelope’s breath caught. Intended?
Violet smiled. “Just ensuring her affections are not misplaced.”
Anthony’s expression flickered—just for a moment. Then, he turned to Penelope, his usual confidence returning. “And what did she say?”
Penelope hesitated. She should end this now. Should tell Violet that it was all a farce, that Anthony was merely saving them both from unwanted attention.
But when she looked into his eyes, dark and searching, the words refused to come.
“I—” she started, but before she could finish, a sharp voice cut through the air.
“I cannot believe it.”
Cressida Cowper stood nearby, her lips curled in a sneer. “You,” she said, eyes locked on Penelope, “have managed to ensnare Lord Bridgerton?”
Anthony’s grip on Penelope’s hand tightened. “Miss Cowper,” he said smoothly, “it is hardly shocking that I would be drawn to someone as intelligent and charming as Miss Featherington.”
Cressida scoffed. “Oh, please. You expect me to believe that this is real?”
Anthony’s jaw clenched. He turned to Penelope, his gaze steady. “Would you care to help me prove it?”
Her heart pounded. “How?”
His lips quirked. “Kiss me.”
The breath left her lungs.
Cressida laughed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Anthony’s gaze never wavered. He lifted Penelope’s hand, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist. A small, simple thing. And yet, it sent a shiver up her spine.
Penelope knew then—this was no longer just an act.
And, perhaps, it had never been.
———————————————————————
Penelope’s world had shifted.
Anthony Bridgerton had kissed her. Not on the lips, but in a way that felt more intimate—his lips against her wrist, his dark gaze never leaving hers. A kiss that made her shiver, that left a hollow ache deep in her chest because it was meant to be a performance.
Only, it had not felt like one.
Cressida Cowper had stared, speechless for the first time in her wretched life, before scoffing and stalking off in a flurry of silk and wounded pride. Violet Bridgerton had beamed, satisfied. And Anthony—Anthony—had looked at her with something unreadable in his expression before offering his arm and leading her back into the ballroom, as if he had not just ruined her forever.
Because now, Penelope knew something dangerous.
She wanted him to kiss her again.
And that was not part of their arrangement.
The following morning, Penelope was determined to put it out of her mind. She would remind herself that this was all temporary. That Anthony was simply playing a role. That she was not some foolish girl who had let herself get caught up in a fantasy.
Unfortunately, Anthony had other ideas.
He arrived at Featherington House just after breakfast, striding into the drawing room with the kind of commanding presence that set everyone—including her mother—on edge.
Portia Featherington fluttered her hands. “Lord Bridgerton! Such an honor! We are most delighted by your attention toward our dear Penelope.”
Penelope nearly groaned.
Anthony, the devil, only smiled. “The delight is mine, madam.”
He turned to Penelope, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Miss Featherington, would you care to accompany me for a carriage ride?”
Penelope hesitated. Their arrangement had already drawn more attention than she had anticipated. Another outing with him would only fan the flames.
But she also knew that declining him would make it seem as though something was wrong.
So she nodded, allowing him to take her arm as he led her outside.
The moment the carriage door closed behind them, she exhaled sharply. “You are taking this entirely too far.”
Anthony leaned back, entirely at ease. “I disagree. That was exactly what was needed.”
She glared at him. “You kissed my wrist.”
His lips quirked. “It was effective.”
“It was unnecessary.”
His eyes darkened. “Was it?”
Penelope’s breath caught. She had no response to that.
The silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. And then, because she was growing tired of this game, she said, “Tell me the truth, Anthony.”
He tilted his head. “About what?”
“About why you are doing this.”
He considered her for a long moment before exhaling. “Because I needed a reason to avoid matchmaking mothers. And because you needed a way to silence the gossip.”
“Yes, but—” She hesitated. “That is not all, is it?”
Anthony was quiet for a long moment. Then, he leaned in, just slightly.
“Tell me, Penelope,” he murmured. “Why do you think I kissed you?”
Her heart pounded. “For show.”
His lips twitched. “Are you certain?”
She wanted to say yes. Wanted to hold onto the safety of their arrangement, the illusion that this was not real.
But she could not.
Because when she looked into his eyes, she saw something that terrified her.
Something real.
And she did not know what to do with it.
———————————————————————
The problem with fake courtships, Penelope was quickly realizing, was that they did not stay fake for long.
She had agreed to Anthony’s ridiculous plan with the expectation that it would be nothing more than a mutually beneficial arrangement. And yet, she now found herself in the back of his carriage, her pulse hammering as he looked at her with an intensity that made her forget why this was supposed to be pretend.
She should have laughed. Should have waved away his question as if it meant nothing.
But it did not mean nothing.
She swallowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Anthony’s expression did not waver. “Like what?”
“As if—” She exhaled sharply. “As if I am something to be studied.”
He leaned back, considering her. “Because I am trying to understand you.”
“There is nothing to understand.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “I do not believe that.”
The carriage jolted as it rounded a corner, and before she could stop herself, she lurched slightly toward him. His hand shot out, steadying her, and she became acutely aware of how warm he was.
For a man with such a carefully controlled exterior, his touch was surprisingly gentle.
She should move away. Should put distance between them.
But she did not.
Instead, she asked, softly, “What happens when this is over?”
Anthony’s fingers tightened slightly on hers.
The rules of their arrangement had been clear from the beginning. A few weeks of pretending, then a quiet, amicable separation. A fabricated love story with a predictable ending.
But now?
Now, the ending did not seem so certain.
Anthony did not answer at first. Then, in a voice lower than before, he said, “Do you want it to end?”
She sucked in a breath.
That was the real question, wasn’t it?
She had spent years dreaming of one Bridgerton brother. Years believing her heart belonged to Colin alone.
But Colin had never looked at her the way Anthony was looking at her now. Had never seen her—not the way Anthony did.
And that terrified her.
Because if this was no longer pretend, then it meant she was in far more danger than she had ever realized.
Anthony must have seen the conflict in her eyes, because his expression softened.
“I will not force you into anything, Penelope,” he murmured. “If you wish for this to remain nothing more than an arrangement, say the word.”
She opened her mouth.
And then the carriage rolled to a stop.
Penelope barely had time to gather herself before the door swung open and a familiar voice rang out.
“There you are!”
Penelope turned, startled, to find Colin Bridgerton standing outside the carriage, looking between them with something dangerously close to suspicion.
Anthony exhaled sharply. “Colin.”
Colin’s gaze flickered between them. “I must admit, I was surprised when I first heard of this courtship.”
Penelope forced a smile. “Were you?”
Colin studied her. “Yes. I suppose I never considered—” He hesitated. “Well. Never mind.”
Anthony’s jaw tightened. “If you have something to say, brother, say it.”
Colin’s lips parted as if to speak—but then he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he simply said, “I only hope you know what you are doing.”
And with that, he turned and walked away.
Penelope sat back, her heart pounding.
Anthony sighed. “That was inevitable, I suppose.”
Penelope swallowed. “Do you think he—”
“Suspects something?” Anthony arched a brow. “Perhaps.”
She exhaled. “Then maybe we should end this before—”
“No.”
The word was firm. Immediate.
Penelope’s breath caught. “Anthony—”
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Let me make one thing clear, Penelope. I am not pretending anymore.”
Her stomach flipped.
And suddenly, she knew—neither was she.
But just as the thought settled in her chest, Anthony leaned forward. His lips brushed against hers in a kiss that was gentle at first, a question—an invitation. And for a moment, Penelope couldn’t breathe.
She had never been kissed like this—slow, deliberate, and filled with so much unspoken emotion. Her heart was racing, but so was his.
Penelope felt herself drawn into the kiss, as if it was pulling her deeper into something neither of them could control. And then, just as she was losing herself in the softness of his touch, they pulled apart, breathless.
Anthony’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “Do you understand now?”
Penelope’s heart fluttered. She nodded.
It was no longer an arrangement. They weren’t pretending anymore.
———————————————————————
The kiss—the one in the ballroom—had left them both breathless.
After the crowd’s reaction had died down, the two of them stood there, in the middle of the floor, looking at each other like the entire world had shifted.
Penelope’s heart raced in her chest, and she was acutely aware of every whisper, every sideways glance. But Anthony didn’t seem bothered at all.
“Well, that was certainly… effective,” he said, his voice calm as ever, though his hand was still firmly holding hers.
Penelope could hardly speak. “You… kissed me.”
“That was the idea,” he replied, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
“And you told them we’re getting married.”
Anthony smiled, his gaze steady. “I thought it was the simplest way to handle things.”
Penelope didn’t know whether to laugh or to faint. But before she could decide, Lady Bridgerton had appeared at their side, beaming.
“Anthony, my dear,” Violet said warmly, “I was hoping for an announcement of this magnitude. How wonderful!”
“Mother, you knew?” Anthony raised an eyebrow.
Violet gave a knowing smile. “I suspected.”
Penelope could hardly breathe through the surprise, embarrassment, and joy crashing through her. All the while, Anthony simply stood there, as if this was entirely normal.
“You’ve certainly made a decision,” Penelope said, her voice a little shaky.
Anthony chuckled softly, turning to face her completely. “It wasn’t entirely my decision, but it was one I was happy to make.” He was so calm, so sure of himself, and yet, Penelope could see a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something real.
“I suppose we’ll need to tell my mother,” Penelope said, her voice quieter now. She wanted to make sense of it all, but nothing felt like it made sense.
“We’ll tell her together,” he replied softly.
They stood there for a moment, the weight of the crowd pressing in. Everyone had seen their kiss, everyone was whispering, and the gossip would be immediate and relentless.
Penelope wanted to escape, to find some small corner of the world where things weren’t changing so fast, but when she looked at Anthony, standing tall beside her, she realized she didn’t want to escape at all.
There was no going back now.
As the evening continued, Penelope couldn’t ignore the growing warmth in her chest, the way Anthony’s quiet attention made everything feel just a little easier. But she wasn’t sure if it was his charisma, his unshakable confidence, or the way he was looking at her—like she mattered more than all the other women in the room.
She caught him looking at her a few times, and each time, the quiet intensity in his gaze made her heart beat a little faster. She was starting to understand, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.
This wasn’t just a performance anymore.
And she wasn’t sure what that meant for either of them.
Later that night, after most of the guests had left the ballroom, Anthony and Penelope found themselves alone on the terrace. The night was cool, but the stars were brilliant above, and the stillness between them was comforting.
“That was…” Penelope started, then laughed nervously, “unexpected.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?” Anthony smirked, leaning against the railing, his gaze focused on the garden below.
“Well, I was expecting some sort of subtle announcement, but not… not quite like that,” Penelope replied, feeling both amused and overwhelmed.
“People needed to know. If we’re going to be forced into a fake courtship, it may as well be a very convincing one.” His voice softened. “I will not pretend with you anymore, Penelope.”
Penelope’s heart skipped a beat at his words.
“I—what do you mean?” she asked, her voice small, though her heart had begun to race.
“I mean that I want this. All of it.” Anthony met her eyes, his expression serious. “If you’re willing.”
Penelope wasn’t sure how to respond. What if he was still playing a game, still acting out the part he’d agreed to? But then she remembered the way he had kissed her, the way he had looked at her when he said those words.
And in that moment, she realized that she was no longer pretending, either.
“I’m willing,” she whispered.
And that was when Anthony’s expression softened, and he reached for her hand, guiding her gently toward the dance floor again. But this time, there was no pretense, no fake smiles. There was only the undeniable feeling that this was real.
———————————————————————
A scandal was inevitable.
After all, one did not kiss a woman in the middle of a crowded ballroom and expect society to merely look away.
The moment Anthony’s lips had met hers, gasps had filled the air. Fans had snapped open in shock, whispers had erupted like wildfire, and somewhere in the background, Lady Featherington had nearly fainted.
But Penelope had heard none of it.
All she had known in that moment was the feel of him—the warmth of his hands at her waist, the strength in the way he held her, as if daring the world to object.
And when they finally broke apart, when she finally remembered where they were, she had barely caught her breath before Anthony turned to the crowd and announced, without hesitation—
“We are to be married.”
A fresh wave of gasps rippled through the ballroom.
Penelope choked. “We are?”
Anthony glanced down at her, utterly unconcerned. “Would you prefer I take it back?”
Her lips parted. She should argue. Should insist that they discuss this first.
But instead, she found herself whispering, “No.”
A slow smile curved at his lips.
And that was that.
Three weeks later, the scandal had not yet died down.
The ton had always been eager for gossip, but Penelope had not anticipated just how much attention she would receive as the future Viscountess Bridgerton.
“I must say, dear,” Lady Featherington said, adjusting Penelope’s veil as they prepared for the ceremony, “I never expected you to do so well for yourself.”
Penelope rolled her eyes. “A charming sentiment, Mama.”
“But truly,” Portia continued, “a Bridgerton! And the Viscount, no less! You must tell me, how did you do it?”
“I honestly do not know,” Penelope admitted.
Because she didn’t.
What had started as a ruse had turned into something entirely real, and now, she was standing in her bridal gown, moments away from becoming Anthony’s wife.
It all felt impossibly fast.
And yet, when the doors finally opened, and she stepped into the grand Bridgerton chapel, all uncertainty melted away.
Because there he was.
Anthony Bridgerton stood at the altar, waiting for her.
Waiting, as he had promised.
And when their eyes met—when his lips quirked into that familiar, infuriating, devastating smirk—Penelope realized something.
This had always been real.
From the moment he had taken her hand. From the moment he had kissed her wrist. From the moment he had turned their carefully constructed fiction into the greatest truth of her life.
And as she took her place beside him, as he reached for her hand and whispered, “Are you ready?”—
She smiled.
“Yes,” she breathed.
And this time, she meant it.
THE END.